


Love Me Today

by salvadore



Category: Neighbors (2014)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy wants to jog after Mac, grab his elbow and say, “Actually, I'm living with Pete and it's great. Like, we're both single, and we drink together still. We play video games. Pete's not an architect. Not yet. But he will be. And man, he'll be amazing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kissoffools](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissoffools/gifts).



Teddy watches Mac walkaway, shirt slung over his shoulder and making finger-guns while grinning at everybody he walks by. And Teddy doesn't laugh like he might have any other day, watching Mac try to grin salaciously ( _fuck yeah_ SAT words!) because Teddy knows he held something back.

And it's going to gnaw at him. The same way the look on the AT&T guy's face and the tone of his voice when he called Teddy “dumb” gnawed at him. Like he's had a bad burrito and it's wreaking hot, clenching, stomach grumbling havoc inside his gut.

Watching Mac head back to his normal old-person life, and Teddy's whole mood sours. Because he didn't tell Mac the biggest thing, the bit he left out. That he and Pete are living together. Teddy doesn't know why he didn't admit to it or why it matters that he didn't. It's not like Mac asked, or Teddy even cares what he thinks. But yet, he wants to jog after Mac, grab his elbow and say, “Actually, I'm living with Pete and it's great. Like, we're both single, and we drink together still. We play video games. Pete's not an architect yet, but he will be, and man, he'll be amazing.”

Teddy doesn't know why, but he thinks it might stop that hot feeling in it's tracks. Which would be good because it feels like guilt and worry. Teddy doesn't worry. And he doesn't fixate or think deeply – he's not that type of guy. Except that one Halloween that he went as The Thinker, but that was mostly because he could get away with walking around naked. He looks great naked.

The whole thing ruins his mood and makes him want to put his shirt back on. Teddy frowns. He loves being shirtless. He covers his bellybutton with the palm of his hand, wanting to go home already.

 

When Teddy gets home the twisty stomach-achy feeling is more like someone has squeezed his stomach in their fist, and he hates that he can't fool himself into thinking that it's the sketchy hot-dog he ate on the way home. Least of all because the smells coming from the kitchen are really great and remind him that he's still hungry.

“Pete? Buddy?” Teddy says, biting back a _I'm home_ as he kicks their front door shut behind him. Pete's head appears from around the corner where the kitchen is and he flat-out grins at Teddy. Teddy's stomach grumbles.

“Oh, hey, dinner is still a few minutes out, dude,” Pete says, wincing and apologetic while still smiling, somehow, as he steps fully into their living room. Teddy wonders how Pete's face can do all that at once. Then gets distracted by the apron Pete's wearing over his ironed shirt. Teddy doesn't question that Pete's wearing an apron because the washing machines in their building are shit and have already ruined a couple of Teddy's tank tops. No, it's the Kiss-the-Cook type of thing across the chest of the apron with a little cartoon chef brandishing a spatula under the words, and the feeling Teddy gets reading the words. Like a tug. Not on his dick, but like his heart or some shit, and now he can imagine walking over to Pete and kissing him. Really kissing him, with a hand over Pete's cheek and gentle. Nice. Like how Mac and his wife kissed good bye in the mornings.

“I figured you'd eat on the way home,” Pete is saying, completely missing the way Teddy is staring him up and down. Teddy's glad because he hadn't realized that was what he was doing until Pete is right in front of him, hand comforting in the way it's squeezing Teddy's shoulder. He goes a bit cross-eyed trying to stare at Pete's lips.

Whoa, Teddy thinks to himself.

“Are you okay, dude? Your stomach keeps, like, moaning or something at me.”

“Uh, yeah, I'm good,” Teddy says. And it's hard not to be distracted by how Pete's hand has traveled south to clasp around his wrist. He can't figure why it's strange. It wasn't before seeing Mac today. It wasn't the many times over the years when he sat with Pete, bunched up on the old Delta Psi Beta couch with their brothers back when they first rushed. They've shared more than one bed, including Pete's mattress their first night in the apartment when Teddy didn't have a job or any money – just fines and pissed off parents. And Pete had just hugged him, told him he'd loved him and, after finishing the cold pizza in what was Pete's fridge then and the bottle of Jack that Teddy had brought along, they'd bro-cuddled like bros.

Yet, Pete's fingers are wrapped around his wrist and it's like wearing a warm bracelet. Teddy does something he hasn't since junior high – he blushes.

“Dude, are you sure you don't have a bug or a fever?” Pete asks, already reaching out a hand to press it to Teddy's forehead. He barely manages to catch Pete's hand before he can make contact, doing his best not to be a douche and just slap Pete's concern away. It's how he ends up holding onto Pete's hand while Pete holds his, and it's weird, Teddy tells his brain. Standing shirtless in his and Pete's livingroom holding hands. Like he ought to be leaning forward and actually kissing the guy hello, right?

Pete's still grinning, though, holding his hand back like it's no big deal, so Teddy thinks it might be okay.

“I'm starving, dude,” he says, finally. And making eye contact. Which is good. Pete somehow smiles harder.

“Good 'cause I found a fucking awesome recipe for calzones, you don't even know, dude!”

 

So they eat calzones in front of their TV, which are just as awesome as Pete promised, and Pete tells him about his day while loosening his tie. Teddy makes Pete laugh telling him about Mac and this fucking awful sign flipping guy outside the AT&T store. And it's normal when they settle in, full and passing out slowly to some Jason Statham movie playing on cable that night.

 

Except, it turns out it's weird when Teddy wakes up because he still wants to kiss Pete.

It's not that Teddy has a problem with dicks – he's seen and touched enough of them over the years that he's pretty sure that's not the problem. He's never wanted to touch one, just has an assessing way of looking at penises now. A tight-lipped, approving and nodding, and appreciative way when he sees them. Probably something to do with living in close quarters with bros who were naked as often as he was. Teddy'd seen five dicks during his rush week alone and, while he's never wanted to jack a friend off, he's willing to fess-up that Michael Fassbender's dick is the sort of monstrous, God-given gift that could make Teddy come from awe. If that was a thing.

But he likes boobs. He likes the vagina. And he's never thought about dicks in a hands-on sexual manner. Now, though, lying awake on his bed, fingers tucked in the elastic of his briefs and listening to Pete rush around the apartment, Teddy's mind keeps panic jumping to the idea. He remembers what Pete's dick felt like going hard in his hand.

He just wants to kiss Pete, not think about his dick. Teddy groans, dragging his free hand down his face, wanting to just wipe this worry free from his brain. It's fucking weird and it's freaking him out. Which is also weird.

“You okay in there?” Pete asks through the door, startling Teddy. And when Teddy looks up it comes back to him, on his sixth beer, between vehemently agreeing with Pete that Jason Statham was “ _the fucking best dude,”_ and arguing over whether Liam Neeson was better or worse (“He's old!” “But he's as good as Jason, dude! If he was in his prime, Jason'd be murdered!” “No way!”) how he'd slumped against Pete, cheek against the collar of Pete's shirt and breathing in the guy's aftershave to the thought of, this is nice.

Teddy just barely manages to remain looking chillax'd in the face of Pete's blinding grin and the memory of drunkenly asking, “Did you mean it? When you said you loved me, dude?” How Pete, just as drunk but trying so hard not to jostle Teddy or spill his drink, had said as seriously as Teddy had ever heard him, “Of course, dude.” His smile had been enough to make Teddy's stomach grumble. How he'd turned his face into Pete's shoulder, snuffling and punching Pete's thigh.

Pete looks bemused, (Teddy's not 100% sure that's a word, but what the fuck ever) and his fingers are curled around the frame of Teddy's door, pillowing his cheek and stands there – like he isn't late for work, and like Peter isn't the weirdest bro he's ever housed with – and Teddy's heart races. Secretly. He's glad Pete doesn't have super-hearing (he always said he wanted super-strength or super-speed, Teddy remembers.)

And then Pete does the dumbest thing. He looks right at his watch before shrugging and coming further into the room. He kicks at Teddy's legs, saying, “Move over, bitch,” and Teddy moves, but only because he's afraid he might explode if he tries to speak while looking at Pete's big, bared teeth. Pete has huge teeth, Teddy thinks somewhat helplessly.

Pete settles on the mattress beside Teddy, crossing his arms over his chest but looking more comfortable than Teddy feels. And it's wrong, this feeling of discomfort, with Pete of all people who has his tie askew and laying there even though he just took a fucking long time in the bathroom trying to get his hair perfect. He's breathing calmly and Teddy decides that enough is fucking enough. He doesn't do this – so he won't.

Pete asks, “Is everything alright?” one more time and Teddy answers honestly.

“Nah. I'm kinda confused, bro.” Teddy breathes in and feels the tension in him uncoil. Pete's presence at his side starts to feel less like hot, gut twisting heat and more like a comfortable warmth. “I saw Mac yesterday and it got me confused?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. It made me wonder if I'd kiss you. For some reason.”

Pete, bless him, isn't looking at Teddy but staring up at the ceiling and it's like they're back in their first frat, talking about Sarah J.'s cup-size and how she'd done a great job throwing together the post-rush week weekend party. Pete's brows are pulled together but he doesn't look angry, so Teddy just waits.

“Do you?” Pete asks. Makes another, different sort of thinking face before shaking his head like he's clearing it. “I mean, do you want to kiss me, dude?”

Teddy's not as good at _not_ worrying as he thought, as it turns out. Because his mouth is dry when he says, “Yeah,” kind of small and quiet.

“Okay.”

Then Pete's there, having rolled over to face Teddy. And he's got a hand on the pillow beside Teddy's face, and he's propping himself up over Teddy, coming in slow – giving Teddy the opportunity to hit him. He's not grinning, and he looks really fucking smart, Teddy thinks, when he's just got his big brown eyes directed down on Teddy. He's watching Teddy, his free hand a gentle touch to Teddy's cheek before their lips make contact.

Teddy jolts into it – Static Shock hit by a hundred thousand volts and living through it, as he reaches up to ball the collar of Pete's shirt in his fist and kiss back. He makes it filthy in seconds. He didn't know he wanted to. And Pete makes a sound, a sort of choked off chuckle against Teddy's lips before he pushes back. Pete's lower lip is huge and soft between his own. Teddy nips at it, and is pleased when Pete's lip splitting smile changes as Pete lets out this groan that zings down Teddy's spine.

Too quick, though, Pete is pulling back. But he's making apologies as he goes, free hand under Teddy's shirt (Teddy doesn't remember that happening, but he likes it. Especially when Pete scrapes his fingernails along his ribs.)

“I have to go to work, dude,” Pete whines. He doesn't look like he wants to leave. He doesn't look like he _should_ leave. His shirt is wrinkled all along one side, and his hair is a wreck. Not to mention his mouth. Teddy grins, proud.

“Dude,” Pete whines. But he's smiling as he scrambles to make up the time.

“To be fucking continued!” Pete yells before rushing out and slamming their front door behind him.

And Teddy smiles now. A small one, just for himself as he closes his spread legs, crossing his ankles and crossing his arms behind his head. His stomach is quiet. At least, quiet in it's grumbling for Teddy's feelings. Now it grumbles in an appeased and hungry sort of way that Teddy plans to deal with later. For now, he's got the hot press of Pete's lips like a ghost or an impression on his and he's got this crazy idea in his head to look Mac up, just to shout, “This is Batman!”

**Author's Note:**

> Ridiculously, this was in part inspired by Maroon 5's _Love Somebody_ , lol. 
> 
> It was a fun little Yuletide Treat to write, and I couldn't help but finish it for the lovely kissoffools. I hope you're having a great holiday season!


End file.
